I pressed my lips together as my daughter ran down the asphalt hill to her classroom. I wanted to yell, Be Careful! You're wearing your Christmas Tights! But I stopped myself. I don't want her to live too safely. She knows the risk of falling and blowing out the hundredth pair of tights this year, but she also know that running down that hill makes her feel strong and fast. I want her to be exhilarated, to feel the wind in her hair. She learned a move last week from one of her girlfriends at school, where she snaps her fingers up high above her head and throws her hips left to right, left to right. I've even seen her do this move at a full run across the playground. I tried the New Move last night in the kitchen (the neighbors get quite a show through that window--more on that later), but my performance was found lacking. I guess I need more practice. So if you see me out on the streets, doing an injustice on that move like I'm your mom, just know I'm feeling the risk but trying to live running downhill, too.